


Body Heat

by stupidsoul



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Hypothermia, M/M, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-30
Updated: 2011-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-23 06:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidsoul/pseuds/stupidsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for the Kmeme.  Sebastian and Anders are sent to Sundermount on an errand by Hawke during the winter months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body Heat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Kmeme prompt: _Sebastian/M!Hawke or Sebastian/Anders, caught out in the cold and needing to preserve body heat...the old fashioned (naked) way XD_

They have never really gotten along. Sebastian tries not to blame Anders for it. Elthina has always emphasized to him the importance of forgiveness, of being understanding of viewpoints unlike his own, of meeting insult with a patient and calm demeanor. She tells him people learn by example, that actions are more compelling than words spoken in the heat of anger. He knows that this is true if only because of her treatment of him, her kindness that eventually led him back into service of the Maker. But Sebastian's not entirely convinced that this approach is working on Anders.

For all his attempts to ignore the other, Anders seems intent on trying to get under his skin, seek out some chink in his armor. He will succeed eventually. Sebastian is not arrogant enough to believe that he possesses no fault to find. Yet, for the time being, Sebastian has managed to endure without breaking. When Hawke requests that the two of them head over to Sundermount, he accepts this, no protest made as to his assigned companion. The herbalist in the Gallows is once again in need of some rare ingredient, and Hawke would go himself but there is trouble at the mines. Always too kind and too eager to help, the Champion does not wish to keep the man waiting on his promise. ("He asked me a week ago," Hawke tells them, and Anders responds with an edge in his voice that is almost too protective, "you let too many people take advantage of you.")

It is a simple task, and one that Sebastian is more than willing to do for Hawke, who has helped them all out of stickier situations. At worst, he and Anders will have to face a few giant spiders, but even they are less active in the dead of winter. Although it surprises Sebastian that they can come to any consensus, they both agree to leave at first light the next morning.

The trek is almost uncomfortably quiet, and Sebastian, who has steeled himself for a few pointed accusations before he is even fully awake, decides this is a more favorable start. Still he isn't sure if Anders is intentionally giving him the cold shoulder, or if the undeniable chill he feels is just the breeze seeping through the joints of his armor. When snow begins to fall fifteen minutes into their journey, neither of them question it. Sebastian finds the gentle descent quite beautiful, and it fills him with quiet awe as evidence of the Maker's glory. But soon the winds pick up, and the casual drift of white specks becomes an enveloping flurry so dense that Sebastian can barely even make out Anders next to him.

"Do you even know where you're going?" Anders' tone isn't exactly friendly when he at last chooses to speak. However, Sebastian reminds himself the sharpness in his voice might merely be his attempt to be heard over the howl of rushing air. "And spare me any clever adages about how the 'Maker will make clear the path' and 'guide our steps' or anything else like that."

"Was I meant to be the one leading?" Sebastian asks, suddenly feeling awkward because he really hadn't known. They had never discussed it, and in retrospect, they probably should have since on every other occasion, Hawke has taken the lead. Though Sebastian cannot see the irritation on Anders' face, he can hear it clearly in his words.

"Please, tell me you're joking."

"It just never occurred to me that you might _want_ to follow me." The layer of snow, still fresh and easily giving way to his weight, has gone from ankle-deep to halfway up his calves in less than an hour. Sebastian has long since given up on brushing any of it from his hair or armor when it is too quickly replaced.

"You're right. I don't. You can't even make up your mind about whether you'll reclaim your throne in Starkhaven or stay in the Kirkwall chantry." Anders specializes in cutting remarks that balance generous portions of mockery and disgust, but a second later, he sighs, fingers pressed to his brow as he bows his head. "I"m sorry. That was... I'm afraid the cold always brings out the worst side of me. Not the blue glowy one. Just the one with a bit of a nasty temperament."

"Are you certain they aren't one and the same?" Sebastian raises an eyebrow, looking askance in Anders direction without turning to face him. He's spoken before he can stop himself, but Anders actually laughs. Sebastian trudges forward a few steps, however, the snow is becoming an increasingly difficult barrier to navigate. Shifting his gaze forward, all he can see ahead is an endless blanket of white. "Perhaps we should find shelter until this passes."

"Maker, please." Anders answers with weary longing drawing out his syllables. "I'd like to be able to feel my fingers again. I wouldn't be much use to anyone if I lost them to frostbite. Mages need their hands, you know."

"Archers too." Sebastian says agreeably.

The shelter they eventually find is little more than glorified notch in the rockface of Sundermount, nowhere near the twisting caverns that they have explored with Hawke on previous ventures. It lacks any depth, but at least takes them out of the storm despite a rather unfortunate draft spilling in from the mouth of the cave. They are too tired to keep searching. Their bodies ache, and their clothing is damp from melted snow, causing the fabric to stick to their skin in an icy sheathe. After a few minutes of sitting with his back turned against the frigid breeze making its way in, Sebastian finds he wants nothing more than to close his eyes and go to sleep.

"Stop that," Anders says and his lashes flutter open, fighting against heavy lids. "How will I be able to tell if you're still alive if you aren't boring me with stories of Andraste and how the Maker hasn't abandoned us all?"

Sebastian glances up to see Anders where he has taken a seat across from him on the ground, rubbing his hands furiously up and down the length of his arms. "You're shivering."

"That's because even in here, it's still damn cold." The apostate makes a face. "I don't think I'll ever be warm again." Sebastian doesn't disagree. His cheeks are wind-stung and his entire body feels encased in a frozen shell that makes it difficult to move, his joints stiff and his limbs uncooperatively rigid. Concepts like dry clothes and cozy rooms feel like very distant memories. He cups his hands together, trying to salvage some of the heat that comes from an exhale.

"Do you think you could start a fire?" He asks after a tentative pause, not wanting to sound presumptuous but unable to shed the belief ingrained to him by the Chantry that magic is intended to serve man.

"Nothing to burn." Anders says, and then his mouth slips into a half-smile. "And would you believe I never exactly mastered that spell? It's more a 'chaotic explosion of fireballs and extra-crispy Templars' than a 'let's sing hymns around the campfire' thing." The mage eases back, legs stretching out in front of him before he heaves a sigh. "I should have practiced more as an apprentice but I guess I was seduced by all the stories about healers getting to ask pretty girls to take their tops off without being slapped. Very compelling argument when you're an adolescent."

"Whatever the reason that led you to them, your skills as a healer have made you invaluable to Hawke, and to countless others you've treated in your clinic," Sebastian replies sincerely. Anders watches him with a look of surprise and uncertainty.

"Thank you, I..." He hesitates, turning his gaze to the cave opening where scattered flakes of white are carried in by the tempestuous gusts of wind. "I wouldn't have expected you to say something like that."

A reply forms in Sebastian's mind but it never makes it from his lips. He doesn't feel he has enough energy to continue the conversation and merely nods instead, his mind too sluggish as he fights of waves of drowsiness. It's a losing battle. The sound of Anders voice growing distant, his speech blurring into an incomprehensible hum of white noise, and then, he hears nothing.

When he wakes up, Anders is leaned over him. "Oh, thank the Maker. I didn't want to have to tell Hawke you died on my watch. He actually likes you."

Sebastian furrows his brow, blinking hard as he tries to remember where he is and what he was doing. It comes back to him in a matter of seconds, but he can't figure out why Anders is still hovering over him, now loosening the fastens that secure his spaulder in place. Though his arms feel heavy, somehow he manages to lift one of them, attempting to push away Anders' unwanted assistance. "What are you doing?"

"You need to get out of your clothes. We both do. The moisture's only speeding up the drop in body temperature," Anders explains, and Sebastian's groggy mind attempts to grasp onto every word he says but only manages to make out half of it. "So unless you have some secret desire to become a very well dressed corpse, I suggest you forgo your 'maidenly modesty' and strip."

In the end, Anders does most of the undressing. Sebastian can't seem to get his hands to work. The usual dexterity of long fingers trained to swiftly set a bow and arrow or maneuver a pick through the intricate mechanics of a complex lock have become thick and clumsy from the cold. He complies to the firmer grasp that guides him in the removal of his breast plate, and the softly clinking slip of light chainmail over his head. Anders handles him with a gentle patience that Sebastian has not come to expect from the other man during their encounters, but he recognizes that this is how Anders has always treated those who have come to his clinic. This is the man, who has earned Hawke's respect with his intense ability to care, not the one who has become warped and consumed by a singular obsession. Sebastian's bracers come off with a determined tug, and Anders traps his ungloved hand between both his own, raising them up to his mouth as he presses down his lips against the icy digits and blows down with the warmth of his breath. Though the prickle of feeling that returns to them in flaring intervals of pressure is not entirely enjoyable, Sebastian manages a small, appreciative smile.

When at last all their clothing has been set aside, Anders slides down against him, aligning their shoulders and arms, hips and thighs, and the sheer heat emanating from the mage's body washes over him in a pleasurable flood of reawakened sensation that breaches the previous numbness of his flesh. Sebastian knows there is nothing meant in this act other than practical conservation of body temperature, despite being too reminiscent of intimate acts he has long since forsaken. But the relief is overwhelming, and it evokes a low, guttural, groaning breath from his throat as he instinctively buries closer into his only source of warmth and away from the frosty touch of the winter air.

"Did you just... moan?" Anders asks. Sebastian can't tell if he's horrified by the thought or just surprised.

"I - " Any attempt to deny it sounds too much like a lie. Sebastian ducks his head in embarrassment, though in their current arrangement this only serves to brush his face against the curve of Anders' shoulder. He feels a slight shiver run through the smaller frame resting atop of his as the closeness of his mouth causes his words to creep across uncovered skin in a tickling whisper. "You're very warm." He keeps his answer simple.

"Yes, we, mages, are naturally hot." Anders laughs, and it is not a sound typically present in their conversations that Sebastian finds he's oddly appreciative to hear it now. "I suppose I've got a bit of an unfair advantage since I can do this." His fingertips graze Sebastian's forearm, and leaves in the wake of its path, something tingling and electric that chases away the chill that cuts down to his bone. The effect is indescribably satisfying, but too quickly gone as Anders moves his hand away. Sebastian is half-tempted to ask the mage to do it again, but he can see too clearly the strain that even this small effort has had on the other man. Though Anders recovers quickly, Sebastian has already noted the tired lines in his features, the shadows beneath his eyes. If Anders has been using his magic to keep himself from freezing, then Sebastian is not surprised that he looks more exhausted than Sebastian himself feels.

"A wonderful talent to have undoubtedly," Sebastian says with kindly intent. "But I imagine that it cannot be easy to maintain. There must be a better way - "

"And what exactly have you to offer?" Anders is quick to take offense, his eyes narrowing and his mouth twisting in a fashion that only makes the beakish shape of his nose more exaggerated. "Maybe you could pray for warmer weather." Anders says with sarcastic flair, but these sorts of barbs have made frequent appearances and Sebastian has learned to dodge them with expert efficiency. He continues on thoughtfully as if he has not heard Anders' insult at all.

"I've heard that it is helpful to keep moving when outside in the cold." Sebastian muses aloud. "Surely we can think of some activity that would lend itself to our unique situation."

"Are you suggesting we..." Whatever thought has entered Anders' thoughts has made his frame go taut with tension, but he soon relaxes upon further consideration and then shakes his head. "Well," he says, and Sebastian thinks he sounds a little too amused. "That's rather sudden, but seeing as we are already lying naked together..."

"That isn't what I meant." Sebastian is flustered by this strange conclusion, and beneath Anders, he shifts uncomfortably, which does nothing to help matters because there exists not even the thinnest barrier between them. Everything can be felt too keenly, the weight of Anders resting against him, the fall of their limbs in parallel lines, the feverish burn of Anders' skin against the cooler surface of his own.

"No? It would keep the blood pumping." Some part of Sebastian realizes that Anders really is only teasing, goading him on as he has always enjoyed doing, and yet this does not set Sebastian at ease. His mind protests how very much their position resembles the intimate nuzzling of post-coital lovers, and Sebastian works down an uneasy swallow.

"Maybe we should just return to completing the task Hawke set for us," his voice breaks once as it leaves his lips. "I am feeling far better now." This is true enough. He is less lethargic than he was only minutes ago, and even his muscles feel more cooperative, movement no longer the insurmountable obstacle it previously felt. He begins to prop himself up by his elbows but a second later, Anders is slamming him back down against the ground, fingers digging firm into his shoulders and pinning him down.

"No." Shock roils through him (never had he expected Anders could possess so much strength) but the face staring back into his looks just as confused at the force of the reaction, and eventually the grip clasped around him loosens. "I just don't think it's a good idea. You haven't gotten your color back yet, and with it still snowing the way it is, chances are we'd just end up here again. That's my official prognosis as a healer. I swear, no nefarious intent."

Anders watches him intensely as he waits for an answer, and they are so close that Sebastian can see the striation in the dark rings of his irises, near enough that their noses might touch like the rest of their bodies. He can even feel the hammer of Anders' racing pulse lightly thrumming against his own chest. There is something terribly earnest in that gaze that holds his own, something burning behind the softness of brown eyes, and as much as Sebastian doesn't want to, he thinks he understands it. They have both had reasons to be sparse when it come to physical contact, the longstanding absence of affectionate touches in their lives, but there persists an almost intrinsic craving for this type of connection, the intimacy it offers and the reassurance. Even now, he cannot help but respond to the feel of skin on skin.

"If that is your expert assessment as a healer, than I suppose that I would be foolish to argue," Sebastian concedes after what feels like a very long silence. He settles back down against the uneven stone that lines the cave floor, pretending not to notice when Anders rests his head against the slant of his shoulder, the slight graze of stubble rough against his skin and joined by the softer intervals of even breathing.


End file.
